Trying
by Burgundy Dahlia
Summary: Ron knows there's nothing he can really say or do to make up for his mistakes, and that the anger Hermione feels towards him is more than earned - but that doesn't mean he's going to stop trying. A DH missing moment between Ron and Hermione.


_Hi all! I wrote this little Romione DH missing moment in honor of Ron's birthday on March 1st. I hope you guys enjoy! (And happy belated birthday to the forever king, Ronald Bilius Weasley!)_

* * *

Ron was trying - he really was. 

He tossed and turned feebly on his lumpy mattress, cycling through different tricks he had heard were supposed to help with bringing on sleep - counting sheep, attempting deep breathing patterns, picturing himself in a favorite place - but nothing seemed to be working. He pulled roughly at the quilt covering him and gave an exasperated sigh as he pressed the back of his head firmly into the thin pillow underneath him. 

In the quiet of the tent, Ron could hear low, rumbling snores coming the bunk above him where Harry was fast asleep and for a brief moment, he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. Harry, his best friend and brother by choice, who had welcomed him back so eagerly after his shameful departure, had spent the past week after their disastrous visit to Xenophilius Lovegood obsessing over the Deathly Hallows. And the fact that he was sleeping at all tonight, rather than purposely isolating himself as he brooded over the possible existence of the Hallows was a small miracle in and of itself. 

But even with much larger questions looming large over their heads, for Ron, it wasn't the thought of Horcruxes or Hallows that were keeping him up tonight. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that sleep would continue to elude him as long as Hermione was outside on watch. 

He stared towards the flaps of the tent that lead outside and squinted as he tried to make out her outline against the canvas. Outside, the wind whistled through the bare tree branches, and Ron shivered involuntarily as he pictured Hermione huddled on the cold, hard ground, a tiny figure against the inky black night.

Unwilling to fight any longer for sleep that he knew wouldn't come, Ron swung his long legs over the side of his bed, shoved a pilling maroon jumper over his head, and shuffled towards the small kitchen.

 _Tea_ , Ron smiled as his mother's voice filled his head. _Tea always helps bring a bit of comfort during trying times, dear_.

Pointing his wand at the small kettle sitting on the stove, he watched as a long wisp of white steam began trailing out from the spout as he grabbed a crumpled and nearly empty box of tea bags and two chipped mugs from the small shelf overhead. Working methodically, he found himself oddly comforted by the otherwise mundane act of preparing the two drinks - his with three sugars, the other with one sugar and a splash of cream. It was almost absurd, the notion of trying to do anything normally, as if there wasn't a war going on and people being hunted, tortured, and killed every day. But one of the things Ron had come to realize over the past seven months was that finding these moments of levity and normalcy was an integral part to their survival; otherwise, the enormity of the task ahead of them and the ever-present danger they faced would fall over them like a shroud and smother them.

With a swish and flick of his wand, the two steaming mugs of tea began floating ahead of him and with a brief stop at his bed to grab his blanket, he took a steadying breath and walked out through the flaps at the front of the tent.

The chilly blast of air that hit him as he stepped outside was so shocking that for a moment, Ron felt paralyzed by it. However, as Hermione turned and looked up at him with a mildly distasteful expression on her face, Ron quickly recovered and gave her a small, apologetic smile.

"Hey," he started as she continued to eye him warily. "D'you mind if I join you?"

Hermione bristled slightly as she sat up straighter, her eyebrows furrowing together.

"I am perfectly capable of handling the watch on my own," she said testily, her eyes narrowed.

"What? Of course you are," Ron said hastily. "I didn't mean it like that." He quickly weighed his options as he stood under her withering gaze and decided the truth was the best route. "I can't sleep and Harry's not helping matters by snoring. I was hoping maybe I could keep you company for a bit." He nodded his head towards the floating mugs of tea and gave a small, hopeful smile. "I brought tea."

Hermione looked towards the mugs, her face softening momentarily, and with a dismissive shrug, she turned back to the book sitting in her lap and began reading again. Realizing that the absence of an out-and-out rejection was as close as he was going to get to approval, Ron sat down, careful not to bump her accidentally, and wrapped his quilt tightly over his lap. Setting his wand next to him, he grabbed the floating mugs and offered the one with cream and sugar to Hermione who took it from him with only the briefest of glances in his direction.

Ron took a sip from his own mug, grateful for the instant heat that seemed to seep down into his chest and branch out through his body, and glanced over her shoulder at the tome perched in her lap.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

" _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Geneaology_ ," Hermione said without looking at him.

"Is it any good?" he pressed, hopeful she wouldn't snap at him.

Hermione exhaled loudly through her nose.

"It's fine," she said stiffly as she carefully flipped a page over and continued reading.

Ron nodded silently, knowing better than to press his luck with further questioning. It was already a tiny miracle that she had let him sit with her at all. Instead, he stared out ahead at the dark landscape of trees in front of them. The blankets of snow that had covered everything in pristine white for all of January had melted into a muddy slush in February and after weeks of nearly constant storms, tonight seemed to be offering a brief reprieve. Ron breathed in deeply, his nostrils filling with the woodsy smell of wet dirt and the slightly sweet scent of rain. Glancing over at Hermione again as she silently read, he chewed the inside of his lip as he contemplated where he stood with her.

Even after nearly two months of being back, Hermione was still maintaining her icy and distant demeanor towards him. And although he had been mostly successful at reading her moods and gauging the best ways to interact with her, he found himself mostly functioning in a cautious manner around her as he was still secretly fearful that one false move might topple over the weeks of work he had done to try and get back in her good graces. But Ron wasn't complaining; the truth was that while one of the happiest days he'd had was the day he finally found his way back to a safe and very much alive Harry and Hermione, he still felt he had more than earned her anger towards him. Being away from her, and from Harry, for those few weeks leading up to Christmas had been so agonizing, that he was more than willing to endure all the frosty glares and curt responses thrown his way. And as long as she was there with him, safe and alive, it was all he cared about. But in the meantime, he would just continue what he had been doing ever since returning - carefully and constantly working to chip away at her steely demeanor and prove that while he might not be worthy, he was always going to try. She meant too much to him not to.

"I, er, hope your tea is how you like it," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "We were running low on cream, but I think I put in just the right amount."

Hermione shot him a sidelong glance, before finally sighing as she closed her book and placed it back in her beaded bag.

"Don't you get tired of this?" she asked wearily as she cradled the mug of tea close to her face.

Ron stared uncertainly at her for a moment.

"Tired of what?" he asked cautiously.

"This," she said, waving her hand vaguely at the space between them. "Constantly trying to make small talk in the hopes that I won't bite your head off. Isn't it exhausting for you? Because it certainly is for me."

Ron swallowed loudly as he fought to ignore the sudden plummeting of his stomach at her words.

"I can stop," he said quietly as he gently placed his tea on the ground beside him. "I… I don't mean to bother you, Hermione. I'm just trying to -"

"To make amends, to prove yourself, to apologize," Hermione rattled off dispassionately. "I know, Ron. You've been at it for weeks. Trust me, I am fully aware of it."

She took a small sip of her tea as Ron watched her, unsure of how to proceed. Aside from the night he had returned, Hermione had been skillfully avoiding speaking with Ron about anything to do with his leaving and certainly had never acknowledged his efforts to make it up to her. Some days, he wondered if she noticed him at all as she had become so adept at tuning him out. But at her words now, he realized just how stupid that line of thinking was. Of course Hermione knew what he was doing - she knew everything. She just wasn't willing to let him know it.

Until now.

"I honestly thought you would have learned your lesson by now," she said dryly. "It's not as though I've been making it easy for you."

"Well," Ron started, "I've been told I'm a slow learner."

Hermione snorted and Ron gave her a lopsided smile as butterflies sparked to life inside him. They sat quietly for a bit longer, sipping their tea and staring out into the distance. Hermione finally broke the stillness with a heavy sigh.

"I am tired, you know."

"You can go back inside the tent," Ron offered eagerly. "I'll take over the watch for tonight -"

"No, no," Hermione shook her head. "That's not what I meant."

Ron stared at her curiously and Hermione sighed again.

"I'm tired of being angry with you all the time."

"Oh," he said dumbly, and he watched as Hermione traced her finger over one of the chips on the rim of her mug. He hesitated for a moment.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione."

"I know."

"For everything."

"I _know_."

"And if you want to keep being mad at me, you can, because I deserve it."

Hermione stared thoughtfully down at her mug but said nothing as Ron pressed on.

"I just want us to be okay. And… and I really want to go back to how things were. Between us. Like at Bill and Fleur's wedding."

Ron could feel his ears burning, but the fact that she hadn't told him to sod off yet felt like such a monumental shift from the last two months that he was worried if he stopped now, he might not get this opportunity again.

"I was so surprised when you asked me to dance," Hermione said in a small voice, and Ron shrugged nonchalantly as he fought to contain the now burgeoning hope growing inside him.

"You told me once that the next time I got the chance, I should ask you before someone else did, and I definitely wasn't going to make that mistake again."

Hermione studied him carefully, her cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink before turning out towards the trees in front of them again.

"It was a lovely evening," she said. "Until…"

"Until Death Eaters crashed the party?" Ron offered as he raised an eyebrow playfully at her.

"Something like that," she answered quietly and with a small shiver, she drew her coat closer to her body.

"Here," Ron said as he gathered the blanket up off his lap and began to drape it over hers. Hermione's eyes widened slightly as she looked at it and for a moment, Ron thought he saw a glimmer of sadness pass over her face.

"Ron, stop -"

"Come off it, Hermione. You've been out here for hours." As she gave the blanket another uncertain look, Ron suddenly teased, "You can use my blanket and still be mad at me, if that helps. I won't mind."

Hermione glared at him briefly before clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes. Ron grinned and coughed in an attempt to cover a laugh.

After another stretch of silence, Hermione suddenly furrowed her brows together and looked at him curiously.

"What time is it?"

"Er… 1:13 AM," he said as he looked down at his watch. "Why?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip and Ron felt his stomach do somersaults inside him. He watched as she hesitated, clearly debating something, and then turned back towards her beaded bag. She dug around momentarily before pulling out a small package wrapped in an old copy of the Daily Prophet.

"I know it's not much, but, well…" she stammered nervously as she handed him the parcel. Now it was Ron's turn to look at her curiously.

"Hermione, what…?"

She gave an exasperated sigh. "For your _birthday_ , Ron. Just…" Hermione shook her head quickly and tucked a curl behind her ear. "It's ridiculous and embarrassing and under normal circumstances, it would be an absolutely dreadful idea for a gift, but seeing as it's been a bit difficult to shop as of late…"

Ron stared at her dumbfounded. It was his birthday and he had completely forgotten. Truth be told, he had stopped paying attention to the date a while ago, as every day seemed to bleed into one another anymore.

But she hadn't. She knew it was his birthday and had clearly prepared for it. She had even found a way to get him a gift.

Ron's mouth had suddenly gone bone dry and he swallowed roughly against the tiny lump forming in his throat. He took the neatly wrapped present from her and gingerly removed the surrounding paper before staring at the items in his hands.

"A chocolate frog and socks?" he asked as he looked up at her.

"I told you it was rubbish," Hermione said pointedly, her cheeks glowing red as she avoided his gaze.

"No, it's not. I think it's brilliant," Ron grinned.

"Oh, stop it, it is not!" Hermione clucked as she rolled her eyes again.

"Yes, it is!" he laughed. "I honestly didn't even realize it was my birthday and the fact that you did and you got something for me…" Ron trailed off, still grinning foolishly.

"You're just saying that because you're trying to win me over," Hermione muttered as she shook her head, but Ron could see she was struggling to maintain her stony demeanor.

"That's not true," Ron asserted firmly as he stared at her. "You remembered my birthday and actually got me a gift - in the middle of the bloody woods and while we're on the run. That _is_ brilliant and thoughtful and way more than I deserve, Hermione. So, thank you."

"You're welcome," she said and Ron watched as the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

"Did you make these?" he asked as he turned over the pair of wooly, black socks in his hands before pulling them on over his hole-ridden pair.

"Yes," she nodded, "I knitted them."

"Amazing, you are," Ron smiled and opened the box to the chocolate frog, grabbed it, and quickly broke it in half. "Here," he said as he offered her a piece. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Ron put his hand up to stop her. "It's my eighteenth birthday, and if I want to share my chocolate with you, I will. Now, take it."

She narrowed her eyes briefly before taking the half from him.

"You're quite bossy for someone who until a moment ago, didn't know it was his birthday."

"What can I say?" Ron teased as he popped the chocolate in his mouth. "I learned from the best."

"Are you referring to your mother or to me?"

"Both," he laughed and ducked out of the way as she attempted to swat him.

"Well, your last two birthdays really have left a lot to be desired," Hermione mused as she took a small bite of her half of the frog.

"True," Ron agreed. "Though they both seemed to help get you to talk to me again, so I'm not complaining."

"You're unbelievable," Hermione said wearily as she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"So I've been told," Ron chuckled, giving her a lopsided grin.

They sat quietly again, listening to the wind rushing through the trees and watching as the moonlight broke through the branches, landing on the ground like sparkling shards of glass. Once again, Hermione was the one to break the silence.

"You're not going to give up, are you?"

If he had been unsure of what she was referring to, it quickly became clear as he turned to meet her gaze and his retort died in his throat. Hermione was looking at him with such earnestness that he couldn't help but feel a strong rush of affection towards her.

"No," he said solemnly. "I'm not."

She stared at him for a moment and Ron held her gaze, unblinking.

"I'm still angry with you."

"I know."

Hermione turned to look out into the dark forest surrounding them again and Ron took the opportunity to drink in her features. Her cheeks were still slightly pink from the cold and there were tiny flecks of moisture clinging to her bushy curls that in the moonlight gave her an almost halo-like glow. Her brown eyes shone as she looked out into the distance and Ron felt his breath catch in his throat. Suddenly, he wanted to blurt out everything he was feeling - how he would do whatever she needed to earn her trust again because she was the most important person to him; how he had spent every single night away from her desperately thinking of her, wanting to hear her voice and dreaming of her face; how he knew that nothing would ever make up for his leaving, but he would gladly spend the rest of his life trying.

"Ron?"

Her voice seemed to travel to him from far away and Ron shook his head, his ears burning slightly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm… glad you came back."

Ron's heart began racing in his chest and he cleared his throat.

"Me too…" he croaked.

"And Ron?" Hermione breathed, turning to face him again, her brown eyes shimmering in the light of the moon.

"Yeah?"

She watched him carefully for a moment and then curled her lips into a shy smile.

"Happy birthday."

And before Ron could realize what she was doing, Hermione carefully intertwined her fingers with his, locking their hands together in the same way they had the night they fell asleep together at Grimmauld Place. Her hand was small and warm inside his and at the contact, Ron felt fireworks explode inside him. He found himself fighting against the now overwhelming urge to lean over and kiss her, so instead, he tentatively rubbed his thumb back and forth over her hand.

"Still angry…" he said with a sigh.

"Yes," she said quietly, but she squeezed his hand gently and Ron grinned.

Once again, Ron found himself grateful for the fleeting moment of normalcy as they sat together in the dark under a canopy of trees and stars, quietly holding hands. He reveled in the moment of peaceful solitude, thankful to be close to her, and in the knowledge that she was trying, too.

And maybe, just maybe, there was still hope for them after all.


End file.
